


Happy birthday, Sourwolf

by gracefulally



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Banter, M/M, Rave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 08:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracefulally/pseuds/gracefulally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles finds Derek’s birth date listed in the Hale Fire report. It’s tomorrow. With help from Derek’s betas, he hatches a “birthday rave” in the abandoned train tunnel connected to Derek’s lair. Derek is less than appreciative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy birthday, Sourwolf

**Author's Note:**

> Written a year ago for an AU GIFset on Tumblr

Derek hears the mu­sic be­fore sens­ing about fifty or so hearts beat­ing wildly and then he catches the smell of the bod­ies, dust, and li­quor — namely, beer, cheap beer. His emo­tions rock from pan­ic to con­cern to rage in the mat­ter of five mil­li­seconds. He glares at the teens, a bunch of strangers, as he des­cends the stairs in­to the aban­doned train sta­tion, which is sup­posed to be a hide­away for him and his pack. There­fore, someone is get­ting mained for this stunt, or at the very least, socked in the nose.

“Hey, it’s the birth­day wolf!” Stiles’ voice crows and Derek stiffens when he senses Stiles ap­proach­ing from the side, seconds be­fore something light, made of thick pa­per is set on top of his gelled hair.

Derek ex­pres­sions nar­rows a glare at Stiles. “What the hell is this?” he de­mands.

“It’s a birth­day crown,” Stiles replies with a slight shrug as he teeters and brings a blue cup to his mouth.

“I meant the people,” Derek snaps im­me­di­ately, turn­ing to slap the cup out of Stiles’ hand, send­ing beer fly­ing to soak in­to the lay­ers of caked dust on the floor and the cup to roll away.

Stiles doesn’t fal­ter and frowns as he takes a step away from the spread­ing beer. “It’s a birth­day party!” Stiles shouts over the sud­den cheers as a par­tic­u­larly bass-heavy mix blares out of the train tun­nel. Derek winces as his in­ner ear rattles and his hands lift to cov­er his ears as Stiles puts a hand to his arm to say, “Come on, Derek. We did this for you. Cheer up, big guy.”

Eyes widen­ing, Derek does a double take between the rev­el­ers and Stiles. “A party — my party?” he stam­mers out of du­bi­ous shock.

“Would you rather it be your fu­ner­al?” Stiles of­fers with a one-shoulder shrug as he lets go.

Derek scowls and lower his hands. “Make them leave or I will,” he says with a flash of his red eyes for em­phas­is.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles throws out his hands as he starts to babble, “Look, I get it. It’s your place of ba­dass se­clu­sion, your Fort­ress of Solitude, your Bat­cave, your Ha-Ha-Hacienda, your Sanc­tum Sanc­tor­um, your—”

“Stiles—” Derek in­ter­rupts in an ir­rit­ated tone.

“If you didn’t want the Hall of Justice, you shouldn’t have made so many cubs,” Stiles says suc­cinctly, like Derek should know ex­actly what he means. The only thing Derek gleans is that this is all some­how on his head, of course.

“You’re right,” Derek huffs. “This is my fault. I’ll handle it.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles says in ex­as­per­a­tion and starts to talk with more wav­ing hand ges­tures,  "why can’t you just en­joy this? It’s your birth­day!”

Derek’s ex­pres­sion flat­tens in­to one of ex­haus­tion and mild sad­ness. “Be­cause it’s just a day,” he says. He gets firmer when he adds in his own ex­as­per­a­tion, “There’s noth­ing to cel­eb­rate about a day!”

“They’re cel­eb­rat­ing you,” Stiles chal­lenges. He looks back to­ward tun­nel where all the light and noise is com­ing from. He’s grim­acing when he comes back to Derek. “Okay, maybe they’re just get­ting drunk and high, and dan­cing in an old train tun­nel, but me,” Stiles trails off and he reaches up to pat Derek’s arm, with a squeeze. “I’m glad you’re here, Derek. Really.” Stiles nods be­fore their eyes meet and he tacks on a simple, “Happy birth­day.”

Derek struggles to not smirk after he sighs in de­feat.


End file.
